


Recess

by raileht



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e15 Silver Bullet, F/M, Silver Bullet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raileht/pseuds/raileht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mere fact that this was not something she should be doing doesn’t escape her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recess

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Mature audiences only. Originally intended to write something for another episode but this came out instead. I am still stumped as to where it came from, but it's here. And no, I am not a perv. Just saying.

 

 

The mere fact that _this_ was not something she should be doing doesn’t escape her.

 

But she’s doing it anyway.

 

She knew it could get her in trouble but the way she was carrying on, she realized that she most probably didn’t care. That, or she’s lost her mind and just didn’t get the memo.

 

A grunt and she moved too fast, smacking the back of her head against the thick wood of the door—that sadly wasn’t thick enough for this particular activity—in a thud that she was sure someone would hear if they were standing close by.

 

That didn’t stop her though.

 

Not even the idea that her partner might have heard her when she remembered he’d been there, on the other side, just moments prior.

 

Was it a minute ago? Five? An hour? Half? She wasn’t sure though she didn’t give a damn about that either.

 

And even if she did actually _want_ to give a damn, she couldn’t really have even if she tried. It wasn’t possible, not when she couldn’t even stop the sound that came out of her lips even when she sank her teeth into her the flesh inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood.

 

Someone might hear, someone might come in, someone might catch her in such an act. She might get into _big, big_ trouble and not the ordinary kind. More like trouble that started with the letter _D_ for disbarment. Not to mention possible jail time, providing she pisses off the right people.

 

Normally, that would be enough to make her stop, make her return to her senses and sober her up. But not this time. She was doing it and who gave a damn when she didn’t?

 

Why? Who knows? Maybe it was simply because she could. Because he was there. Because she was stressed, wound up and decided a good stress reliever was indeed in order. Because she wanted to. Because sometimes temptations won out. Because it felt so goddamned good. Because. Because. Because.

 

 _Because_.

 

Some might find it _stupid_ that a locked room _in_ the courthouse _during_ recess—the bitchy side of her almost delighted at the idea of Will Gardner finding out and having a coronary, the hypocrite—in the middle of a trial with half the day barely over was the location where she allowed this to happen. Some might find it _unethical_ because she was his lawyer, he was her client and all that jazz.

 

Some might find it _perverted_ that she was letting this happen _here_ where various people from all walks of life—guilty, innocent, lawyer, thief, robber, murderer, rapist—came in and out of there, occupying space, breathing air and touching things freely and god knew what else in the very same place. Some might call her _insane_ for not letting this bother her, not letting the fact that the cold, shock-inducing metal door knob was digging into her lower back as she was being pinned against it by her client.

 

Some might call her a _whore,_ a _slut_ for such careless, thoughtless and downright _lewd_ conduct, for particpating in such _vulgar_ behavior. Some might call it _pathetic_ that someone her age would dare engage in such recklessness.

 

Hell, some might even call it _reprehensible_ the way she let his hands drag the hem of her dress up her thighs, hands creeping along her skin then stopping almost abruptly.

 

Warm hands, strong, sure, calloused and _familiar_ , squeezed and she moaned yet again. His hand was too high up for innocence, but was also too low for sin.

 

At least _for now_.

 

Some might find it _disgraceful_ if they caught a glimpse of the definitely _not_ professional fitting lace and silk lingerie her red dress hid. The dress enough would have—probably already had—raised eyebrows, what more the surprise she so gleefully donned on especially for him only hours ago?

 

It was sin against her skin. Some might call it _undignified_ though personally, she called it freedom.

 

He called it _sexy_ with a hiss, lips tracing along her skin and the way they trained the length of her long legs almost reverently, making her skin tingle with kisses that was close to the one that started this whole unbridled moment. Only this time they were delivered with enough precision to make her gasp and her knees almost buckle pathetically.

 

Some might call it _immoral_ , what they were doing and maybe later, she might agree, but she wasn’t inclined to at the moment. Not when those lips were doing the most _unspeakable_ things to her as she dug her nails into his hair and scalp, head thrown back and both hands keeping him on his knees, his own grasping her bare thighs. His hold was firm, almost hard enough to leave bruises, but just _almost_. He was, after, a gentleman.

 

 _Sad_ , some might say, that she would indulge in such _lascivious_ behavior to stave off feelings of loneliness and regret. They would be wrong, but she wouldn’t give a damn either, if she heard or knew. Some might think _pitifully_ of her, for the devolving her character, for risking her reputable image with something so _tawdry_.

 

Well, screw it. Screw them.

 

This wasn’t rebellion, this was notsome mid-life crisis-induced behavior. This was notsome act of protest.

 

It is what it is.

 

Fast, dangerous, unspeakable, rough and thoughtless.

 

Intense. Consuming. _Reckless._ Hell, even _freeing_.

 

Exactly what she wanted.

 

She threw her head back again, another _thump_ and a scream would have escaped her lips, would have alerted the people outside, but it was cut off mercifully by a warm hand clamping over her mouth.

 

Some might call it _fucking insane_ as she allowed him to muffle her cries in a less than genteel manner, but she didn’t give a damn. Instead, let her eyes roll to the back of her head and made another sound as lips pressed along her neck, one hand burying into her hair and she shivered.

 

Some might call her _stupid_ yet again, for letting his soft, ragged whispers through, for letting him continue on, for letting his lips press fully against hers, sharing the almost intoxicating taste in an action that others would have deemed _indecent._

 _  
_

Her nails dug into his shoulder, the others just below his collar, breaking skin and letting blood seep through. The only response she got from that was a playful nip along her neck, teeth sinking into skin that made her eyes shooting open and a loud gasp escaping her suddenly untamable lips.

 

Everything is _rough_ , almost _unforgiving_ even though there was nothing to forgive, and it was _unspeakable_ and downright _vulgar_. But at the same time, they manage to show some sign of affection, some reassurance that despite the insanity of it, they _want_ it—all of it.

 

And that was why she found her hands slipping around his collar, pulling him up harshly to her lips and kissed him, one hand curled into the fabric of his clothes, the other slipping around his neck.

 

Logic, rationale, proper behavior and manners were obliterated from her mind.

 

Replaced with hot kisses, dueling hands and bodies pushing for dominance—actions that could be deemed almost _combative_ but she was the first to bend this time and she let him do as he pleased. It didn’t matter, in the long run, they would both benefit. He was a _generous_ man.

 

He had that power over her and she was all too willing to _submit_ to him.

 

Screw them. All of them. Everyone, anyone and the rest of the universe.

 

Diane Lockhart did not give a damn, not when she’s trading the most intense, most invasive kisses she’s ever shared with a man. She’s not rejecting the idea that she must have _indeed_ lost her mind already. And that was okay, she decided, breathing hard as his body pressed against hers, breathing heavily against her neck while they both shivered as she rode out the aftershocks of their clandestine tryst.

 

She smiled, having found out that she rather liked being _fucked_ —too vulgar a word yes, but that was _exactly_ what happened, deny it or not and she was not about to do that—against a door. It was all the more hilarious and _exhilarating_ doing it where they did, for once having thrown caution and sanity into the winds and just _doing_.

 

It was freeing, it was…different.

 

Maybe there _was_ a little bit of rebellion in this, she thought belatedly though she wasn’t all that coherent to actually _think_ properly.

 

She breathed in, smiling a little again as she slumped forward and he easily caught her, chuckling into her hair and whispered her name in a rough yet endearingly affectionate way. His hands slipped around her waist and settled gently against her lower back, as if he’d been aware about the slight discomfort she was feeling—barely—and pressed gently to ease the slight throb. She really didn’t care but he was that kind of man so she let him.

 

His other hand smoothed her dress down just as his teeth nipped playfully at her bottom lip, his actions contrasting with his previous ones, helping her regain some semblance of modesty. She laughed and promptly gave him a deep, searing kiss that took his breath away, her name leaving his lips in a breathless whisper.

 

Some people can say what they want, think what they think because she would simply shrug. S _crew the world_. This was a kind of _joie de vivre_ she was fully glad to have indulged in.

 

She’ll think about her sanity in two seconds because for now, she was going to _revel_ in this.


End file.
